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From A Consort With Evil From Mr. Popularity
... The Siege of Caerlaverock, 1300
The Wars of Independence were bloody and brutal, laboured and lengthy. Forces that held allegiance to King Edward slaughtered the Scottish. They showed no mercy; it was not a word they understood. A swift and painless death was for the lucky but more often it was torturously slow for those taken in battle. The King's army was unstoppable; they had even stolen the Stone of Scone, a revered icon to the Scots as a symbol of religious and ceremonial ancestry dating back centuries.
... The woman leaned her arms against the stout railing, a safeguard crafted by proficient hands from generations past, and looked at the night shades of the ocean, the clouds, the sky. She'd missed her favorite time of day, when the sun sunk in the west; she was so late leaving work tonight that she'd not even caught a glimpse of the sunset on her drive home. It would have been spectacular from up here, with vivid colors from the retreating storm clouds multiplied against the ocean.
"Now that the encampment of the regiment at Meryton had moved on to Brighton, summer began to follow spring into a much quieter Hertfordshire. The early season had offered little in the way of sunshine; it was more inclined toward showery skies and windy days. Long spells of driving rains fell from blackened clouds, omnipresent and gloomy. The foul weather appeared to be content to hang over the slumbering countryside for weeks on end. And yet the signs of life and renewal would not be intimidated. The verdant green grasses that had first defied winter had grown long and lush; the earliest spring flowers that braved the cold were followed by a riot of colour that spread throughout the garden; the frost that once clung to the windowpanes each morning was long since forgotten. The branches of the plum trees, which had signalled spring's arrival as they swelled with blooms that burst forth in pinks and whites, now displayed the fullness of shiny leaves of the season... "
"It was purely by chance that Miss Elizabeth had happened to stay at Netherfield and the occasion of her being in the household gripped his rational thinking. With increasing regularity, she succeeded in twisting and tying his emotions into nothing more than an inflamed rash of confusion. The reticent-natured man more often than not retreated into gloomy silence, for she circumscribed his ability to act normally. He regularly felt the fool. The possibility existed to meet her at any moment; he never knew when he might turn a corner and find her there. While it had never been often enough to suit, when chance provided the occasion, he proved himself a useless mess and would excuse himself abruptly. Darcy could not secure a peaceful outlook even with his removal from her immediate company; as soon as he had quitted it he began to plan how he might engage it again."
"Darcy knew he must act on what he had been shewn, but there was no time to mull over the exact course he would take to correct the ramifications of his past actions and avoid the predicament that awaited Bingley in the future. It would have to wait, for no sooner had he left Bingley's sitting room than he was in another environment that was indeed foreign in more ways than one. Large plastered pillars formed the wall of a room, beyond that was a balcony that overlooked an immense tropical garden. The cry of the mynahs, attacking the scarlet, finger-like blooms of the coral trees, filled the air with their shrill call and made its way into the house. Grey peafowl grazed the lawn for a last meal before they were off to roost for the night. From the ground, a purple mist shimmered upwards and breathed colour into the sunset."
From A Consort With Evil
From Mr. Popularity